In It Together
by astroanna
Summary: The finale won't stop running through my mind! A short one-shot about how Wilson's relationship with a patient tells House what has really happened to his friend...


One week. It had been one short week since she had died. A mere two days since the hell that had been her funeral. And still James Wilson was here, back at Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital, looking through the patient files that had piled up in his absence. Luckily most were simply routine follow-ups and there was nothing that was particularly taxing. Flipping to one particular file, though, stopped him in his tracts.

Teresa Sanchez.

Wilson had to take a deep breath before opening the chart slowly.

Twenty-six, mother of a lovely three year-old-girl, and with curative but far advanced ovarian cancer. Looking up her latest labs which had been drawn the previous day his stomach dropped.

Abnormal cells in the inguinal lymph nodes. It was a better than even shot the young woman wouldn't see her child to kindergarten. It was going to be, in House's words, a bad news appointment.

Instantly Wilson was back in that procedure room, looking into the heartbroken sea green eyes of the woman he loved and, as he had done so often before, taking away the last piece of hope that she would live.

Wilson had gotten used to this by now, being an oncologist it kind of came with the territory. Still he could not shake Amber's image from his mind the way he could with other patients. He cared about every patient, but he had also learned how to process the fear of death and the desolation he saw daily without breaking. He wasn't sure he had that ability anymore.

An hour later he was told by his assistant that Teresa had arrived. Taking a deep breath he told her to let the young woman in. She walked into his office as she usually did, composed, but with a light in her eyes that told whoever was looking at her that she was happy, fulfilled. Seeing her like that sent a vein of ice through Wilson's heart; he was going to have to steal her last piece of hope, too. His own words seemed to reverberate through his mind.

_I don't think I can do it._

He hardly remembered saying the words, there was a numbness pervading his very core. Before he knew it, however, she was just sitting there, the same fear and hopelessness in her brown eyes as in the familiar sea green.

"Am I dying, Dr. Wilson?"

Something in those words chilled Wilson's mind, and heart. He looked within himself for the warmth and compassion he had always given to every patient but it simply wasn't there. Schooling his features into a professional, and unusually formal, mask he simply answered with one word.

"Yes."

The next few days passed in a haze of routine, and the numbness that had taken hold of Wilson remained. He was just about to go home one night when an impatient knock sounded on his door.

"Come in," Wilson said flatly.

House made his way into the room, his eyes finding Wilson instantly. The two had seen little of each other since Amber's death and it had been careful, tentative. There was none of that in House's eyes now, however. The blue eyes were gazing at Wilson intently, with his uncanny ability to see into Wilson's soul. Wilson could sense what was coming, and knew he wasn't ready for it.

"House, I need to be alone right now," he said, now avoiding the piercing gaze.

"No, you needed to be alone," House said, sitting in front of Wilson's desk, "you needed space. You needed time to grieve, to process the fact that she died. Just exactly how much progress have you made?"

The question was blunt and characteristic, but Wilson couldn't help noticing the unusual tone House used. It was challenging, but also understanding. Looking up at House Wilson was surprised to find the understanding reflected in the blue eyes.

"I don't-" Wilson said quietly, blowing out a breath, "I don't know."

House nodded.

"What can I do?"

The question shocked the younger oncologist. For several long moments he studied the other man, trying to find the intention behind the question, the hidden agenda. For once he didn't find one.

"You really want to know?" Wilson asked, his curiosity momentarily overcoming the numbness.

House leaned forward, now catching and holding his friend's eyes.

"I want to know," he said seriously, "because it's important. You're important."

Wilson sighed wearily.

"What does that mean, House?"

"It means exactly what it means," House said, a touch of impatience in his voice now.

"You. Are. Important. I don't say things without a reason, Wilson. You know that about me."

House kept his gaze level upon Wilson's.

"There are people in this world who need you. I'm one of them. It's hard for me to say this to you because I'm used to being…me. Miserable, in pain, and closed. But if saying this will help bring my best friend back I have to say it."

"What do you mean, 'bring your best friend back'?"

"Do not play games with me, Wilson. Not now." House's voice was steel.

"I'm not playing games," Wilson said, now looking back into the blue eyes.

"You need it spelled out for you? Really?"

Wilson shook his head, nonplussed.

House nodded, the look on his face saying, 'I guess we do this the hard way'.

"Cuddy came to talk to me. She was hoping I knew what was going on, that maybe I could help."

"With what?"

"Your patients, Wilson. A couple of them have been to see Cuddy. About you."

"What?"

"It's only been a couple of your regulars. The ones who have been seeing you for months or years. They've noticed a…change in you."

"I can't believe this," Wilson said, his temper flaring unexpectedly, "I lose a wonderful woman who meant a lot to me and I'm expected to just shrug it off?"

"No!" House said, matching Wilson's ire, "that's the point. You haven't dealt with the fact that she's gone. You've put your pain on hold and settled for…checking out."

"I haven't-"

"No games, Wilson, I mean it. Teresa Sanchez. Does that name ring any bells?"

"Young woman, ovarian cancer-"

"Your patient," House interrupted, "who you'd seen for the last year. You'd met her daughter, helped her deal with the pain, the chemo. She told Cuddy how wonderful you'd been and how she wouldn't have gotten through it without you."

Wilson said nothing, but simply stared at House.

"She asked if she was dying," House continued more quietly, "and all you said was yes. No holding her hand, no Wilson empathy, nothing. It surprised her so much she asked Cuddy what was wrong. All Cuddy told her was that you were having a hard time, personal loss, but nothing specific. She seemed to understand."

House leaned forward slightly.

"I sure as hell didn't."

"What does Teresa Sanchez have to do with you?" Wilson asked wearily.

"Everything," House said purposefully, "because through her I learned that my best friend isn't there anymore. I want to know what happened to him."

Wilson fought back sudden tears.

"I can't…do this-"

"Yes, you can. You've helped me, Wilson. You've saved my life I can't even count how many times. Let me help you, for once."

Wilson looked back at his friend, and wasn't sure at all if he was up to the task. The weight of his own grief, however, was suddenly too much to bear alone, and so he had to chance it.

"She…she made me better, House," Wilson said, his voice breaking, "she made me believe in myself in a way I don't think I ever have. I felt like…a better me when I was with her."

At this Wilson did begin to weep in earnest and closed his eyes tightly against the onslaught, his hands covering his face. Unexpectedly he felt a firm, steady, but gentle hand upon his shoulder and it surprised Wilson to find that the contact calmed him, strengthened him.

"I know she made you better," House said quietly, "I know she loved you, and you loved her. I'm so sorry you lost her, Wilson."

"What do I do without that, House?" Wilson asked, looking at his friend through his tears.

"Do you really think she gave you anything you didn't already have? That you didn't give her just as much as she gave you? You've always been the guy she saw, Wilson. You just never knew it. You can be that guy again."

"I don't think so."

"I do. Medicine I'm good at, medicine I get. People…not so much. But I do know one thing. You told me Amber made you better. Let me tell you a secret. You make other people better. You have a gift for it. Don't let that go to waste."

"I don't have a gift, House. Not anymore."

"I don't believe that," House said, agitated, "Not at all."

House stopped suddenly, wincing. His fingers pressed upon his temples, apparently trying to suppress a mounting headache.

"Are you OK?" Wilson asked, concerned.

"Yeah," House said, his voice strained, "my head isn't as hard as I thought."

"Stubborn ass," Wilson said softly, making his way around the desk to look more closely at House's head. Running his deft, careful fingers through his friend's hair his stomach seemed to drop to the ground as he felt the hard, long scar that had already begun to form over the skull fracture. He kneeled so that he could look more closely into House's eyes. The pupils were equal, round, and reactive, but Wilson also recognized the pain in them. Rising to his feet Wilson sighed, then simply sat on the edge of his desk, still looking at the older diagnostician.

"God, I'm sorry, House."

"For what?" House asked, looking at Wilson with an unusual, but genuine, confusion.

"I shouldn't have asked you to undergo electrical stimulation. It almost killed you."

"You did it because you needed to know-"

"I did it because I was desperate and out of my mind. I can rationalize it all day long but it still doesn't change the fact that I need you to forgive me."

"I forgave you before I ever walked through that door," House said matter-of-factly.

The numbness within Wilson was being swept away beneath House's understanding and compassion. Wilson had no idea where it was coming from, but it was leaving behind a deep affection for his friend.

"How? Why?" Wilson asked, still stunned in a way by this change in House.

"I can give you all the rational reasons; you wouldn't have asked me unless it was too important not to ask. I was the only one who could possibly have the entire answer and so you had to ask. I agreed, which made it my decision. In the end, though, none of that is going to compare to the fact that you've forgiven me for a hell of a lot worse. You've forgiven decisions that weren't made out of devotion and love. They were made out of selfishness and misery. You deserve to be forgiven, Wilson. I never was."

"I don't…know what to say," Wilson said. It was true.

"Just tell me that you won't become me," House said quietly, avoiding Wilson's gaze.

"What?" Wilson said, taken aback.

House looked at Wilson, a desolation Wilson hadn't noticed shining now in the blue eyes.

"The only thing worse than being me is the idea that you're on the same road I'm on. That's the last thing I want for you."

"You don't have to stay on that road, House."

House shook his head.

"It's too late for me-" he began.

"Damn it, no it's not!" Wilson said, now rising to his feet to look down at House, "why are you doing this? What the hell makes me so special? Why am I deserving of a second chance and you're doomed to misery?"

"Because you're better than me!" House said loudly.

As House's voice faded the silence that settled over the two men was deafening. Wilson had not expected these words from House and it disturbed him profoundly.

"I am not better than you," Wilson said quietly, "I've made my mistakes-"

"It's not even close to balancing, and you know it-"

"Stop acting like there's some invisible scoreboard above our heads and whoever's in the lead is the deserving one. If you want me to give myself the chance to heal, you have to do the same thing."

"How? I can't-"

"Of course you can. There's therapy, rehab, P.T. You've never given any of it a real chance to work."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying…"

Wilson paused, sensing somehow that this moment was a turning point. For both of them.

"Whatever this thing is, let's be in it together," Wilson said quietly.

House stood up, coming face to face with Wilson. The two looked at each other for a long moment, neither gaze faltering. Finally, House nodded.

"Deal."


End file.
